The odors of a busy port assaulted George as he stepped onto the docks. Fish, seawater, a faint trace of sewage, and smoke had him gagging the way it always did. A few unpleasant deep breaths and he was almost acclimated, though he hoped the Meristan capital was fresher than its largest port. At least he had arrived in spring. He shuddered thinking of what the place must reek of in the height of summer. The best part of his old position as a magehunter was traveling around the Empire and exploring the wilderness. Of course it came with living with nonstop threats to his life, so maybe ‘best’ wasn’t a high bar to hit. These new mages would need people to do the same sorts of things, maybe he could sell himself to them as a sort of forager or hunter. They could send him around to protect people instead of hunting them. He could dream.

  Moving away from the docks, he could breathe easier and the crush of people thinned out enough for him to get his bearings. He stepped to the side of the road, looking out over the streams of people, trying to find his target. A merchant house like he’d visited in Oudigar would be perfect, but he had no clue if that was how Meristans hired workers. He would find out soon. He glimpsed a city guard looking at George from across the square. Running would only make him look suspicious, he’d learned that lesson the hard way when he tried to escape the mage hunters as a child. Instead he pasted on a smile and walked directly towards the guard, doing his best to project ‘hapless foreigner’.

  “Hello! Merchant carrier work, where?” George held the smile while internally cursing the magehunter tutors, who had made him study ancient Alrasian but didn’t think Meristan would be useful. After all, why would any of them need to talk to such people?

  “What’s that lad?” The older man seemed perplexed, but not like he was considering George a threat, which he would take as progress.

  “Where is merchant-carrier work?” George dug deep into every scrap of language he’d learned over the last week amongst sailors on the ship.

  “Oh, if you’re looking to porter, head over and give your name to the guild branch. About halfway towards the city center, fancy green building, you can’t miss it.” A vague gesture down the road had George trotting off, thankful for the uneventful interaction.

  A few more conversations in broken Meristan, and George was standing across the street from a wide green edifice. Something was inscribed above the doors but the elaborate carving made it impossible to read. He had been watching for an hour, observing who went in and out. It was an eclectic mix of men and women. Some wore the tailored layers of what was obviously the upper class, others the kind of rough homespun George himself had scrounged from the rest of the caravaneers after fighting off the monster. Feeling he had a good handle on what was going on, he entered with as much confidence as he could muster.

  Inside was controlled chaos. Clerks and workers bustled around, shouting at each other and handing papers back and forth in a careful dance. A gallery ran along the upper floor, where a few of the rich patrons he had seen were gathered sipping some sort of amber liquor. A massive desk dominated the center of the room, and lacking other instincts, George made his way towards it, dodging the few people that crossed his path.

  “Hello, I would like to sign up to work as a porter. What options are available?” A kind woman running a stall in a market had helped him memorize the right phrasing.

  “Name? Member? Quals?”

  George stared at the man. He recognized the words but had no idea what had been asked of him. The clerk let out a put-upon sigh.

  “What is your name?” The man drew out each word, as though speaking to a fool.

  “Simon Quint”

  “Are you a member of the merchant guild or any affiliate organization?”

  “No.”

  “What qualifications do you have?”

  “I can carry things, cook, keep watch.”

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  “Very well. Give this to the people at the employment desk and they will discuss what options you have.”

  George made his way over to the desk indicated. It seemed to him to be a needlessly complicated system, but the Meristans had made bureaucracy into an art form. Another conversation filled with a lot of pointing and miming, and George had been told he could join a caravan in two weeks that was making an early run to get a jump on some of the smaller outfits. The route wound its way north to the capital before looping the rest of the country and into Naxos on the way back to Lanport. Lodging for two weeks in the city was going to cut into a large part of his savings, but it would still be better than paying for passage north, and less conspicuous. He hoped he wasn’t important enough to follow this far, but better cautious and alive than conspicuously dead. He crested a rise in the city and saw the countryside extending next to the coast. It was warm enough here to sleep outside, especially for a mage like him, but if the local soldiers found a lone Laskarian camping near the city he’d be shipped home if he was lucky, and left full of lead if he wasn’t.

  George wandered back past the affluent areas of the city, into the rougher neighborhoods by the docks. The smell was still atrocious but his coin would go farther here. A worn-down inn called The Salty Mermaid had an empty room they rented to him without asking any questions. The bed was a wooden board with a thin layer of blankets, the food was awful, and the barroom was too loud, but it would do. He’d slept in worse. He would hole up here and try to pick up some more of the language before it was time to leave.

  ********

  The guildhall looked the same as the last time he’d ventured into this part of town to sign up. Following the instructions he’d been given, George made his way inside to a room where a group of people were already gathered. They would be his fellow porters, the cooks, the animal keepers and some other assorted roles for the caravan. The guards were coming from the Mercenary Guild and would meet them at the warehouse along with the merchants themselves. One lecture on procedure and policy later, they were on the way to the warehouse at the edge of the city.

  George would almost be sad to leave. The last few years, trying to focus on his magic while he was in a city or large town had been horrible. Like trying to breathe while a bear was sitting on his chest. The magic in the air was too much, and moving too quickly. Most of the magehunters had taken more and more missions, just to be further from the population centers. Lanport had been a breath of fresh air, despite first impressions at the port. Though that could have been his relief at having two oceans and a continent between him and the rest of the magehunters. He loitered with the other porters, keeping his head down and facing slightly away from the street so no one would make eye contact and remember him. Instead, he sent a trickle of magic to his ears. Long years of practice let him filter out the ambient noise of the city, letting the nearby conversations come to the fore.

  “Are we getting something like that? If there’s one sea monster there’s another.”

  “Don’t touch that. Be good and we can stop by the bakery on the way home.”

  “Yeah, I heard more recruits than the last three years combined.”

  “Thank you again for those deliveries Master Huran, you don’t know how much bother you’ve saved me.”

  The mention of the caravan leader caught him off guard and George focused on those voices, tuning out the rest. A woman, clearly wealthy, with a trace of an accent.

  “Not at all Madam Skycrest, you know we always appreciate your business.”

  A few more pleasantries were exchanged while the final checks were made on the wagons that would carry merchandise, and the merchants, north. George was still focusing on the conversation when he felt the faintest piece of magic brush up against him. He panicked. With all the subtlety of a rhino he ripped his magic away from his ears and shoved it back down. Sounds were muted for a few moments while he readjusted to normal hearing. His heart was racing and it took every bit of self control he had to keep from sprinting off. If someone had noticed him, running away would be sure to get him caught. Instead he carried on leaning against a wagon near the other porters. In his periphery he checked to see if anyone was paying close attention, but he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

  “Alright you lot, load up.” Their leader had finished his conversation and was ready to shout the workers into action. George complied with the rest, shuffling off to his designated spot, avoiding eye contact without looking like he was avoiding eye contact. His heart still racing, he faked a stretch to see if anyone shady was hovering around. No one was out of place. As the first carriages were about to start moving towards the gates, the same voice from before interrupted.

  “Master Huran, if you don’t mind, may I hold you up for a moment?”

  “Of course, Madam Skycrest, anything for such an honored customer.”

  The woman, Madam Skycrest, stepped up so that she was halfway down the line of wagons, visible to the entire caravan. She was a striking middle-aged woman, with laugh lines around the corners of her eye, in a pale yellow silk outfit that probably could have paid for George’s entire childhood home.

  “Hello everyone, my name is Theresa Skycrest. I am currently acting as the magical warden of Lanport. That means I work to keep the magic around the city safe, and keep magical effects away from anyone that might get hurt. I thought I noticed someone in the area using magic a few moments ago.”

  She paused here as if for comment. George’s heart was going to beat out of his chest but he followed everyone else’s lead and looked around the caravan with a confused frown.

  “Now, as you may know, the official Meristan stance on magic is to keep out of a citizen’s private affairs. Nevertheless, we are looking to train more wardens for other areas of the country. If anyone has any interest, we would work with the officers of the fort to get you a salary and formal training.”

  No one moved. George heartily approved of his coworkers at that moment. He wouldn’t be caught dead taking up that offer, even if he weren’t from a country antagonistic to Merista. If any of the other laborers had a magic talent, they weren’t stupid enough to announce it either. Madam Skycrest looked at each carriage, and George made sure to make the appropriate nervous eye contact.

  “Very well, I won’t hold you up any more, safe travels.”

  “And a warm hearth to you Madam Skycrest.” Master Huran gave a hearty wave and then the wagons began to move in earnest. Once they were out of the city and miles down the road, George let go of a small amount of the tension he’d been holding since he entered the country. One more leg and his journey would be over. Then it was just convincing a group of magic users that he was worth protecting.